


Suitcases

by PoorQueequeg



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-16
Updated: 2012-04-16
Packaged: 2017-11-03 19:13:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/384889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoorQueequeg/pseuds/PoorQueequeg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James drives Helen to the airport. Drabble written for Sanctuary Bingo and the prompt 'Suitcases'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Suitcases

It was a bright April afternoon in London and the sun was shining. The sky was blue but the wind was brisk and cool, carrying fluffy white clouds across the sky like leaves on the surface of a fast flowing stream. They had played that game once, Helen and he, standing on an old wooden bridge in Oxford where the Cherwell river joined the Thames and throwing stick after stick into the babbling water below while they talked about nothing of consequence. They had gone for a long walk in the woods and though their friendship in those days was nothing but innocent, there had been something of a scandal when he escorted her to the door of her college with leaves in her hair. It was not seemly for a lady to walk unescorted with a gentleman even though the most improper thing they had done that day was hold hands as he helped Helen over a gate as they cut across a field instead of following the long path all the way back into town.

Of course, things had become decidedly improper between them in the years since that afternoon in Oxford. Half a century of unmarried cohabitation had naturally elicited more than a few raised eyebrows and disapproving looks across the table at formal receptions and other such events. Helen was so wealthy that she didn't give a monkey's for any of it. Of course, being so wealthy, she didn't have to and it was that fact alone that had assuaged his family's respectable bourgeois outrage at their living situation. It had remained a mystery to his mother why they did not marry until the day she died and on consideration, it was a mystery to him too but he supposed that was why they were where they were now.

James did not turn to look when he heard Helen's heels on the tile behind him, his eyes focussed instead on the building site across the street. It had been a beautiful Georgian terrace but it was nothing more than a pile of rubble now, the bomb damage so severe the owners had sold the land to the government and moved on.

“Did you ever find out what they're doing with it?” Helen asked. James chewed on his lower lip and took a deep breath in and let it out a moment later with a slow, defeated sigh.

“No,” he replied eventually. “Whatever it is, I'm sure it will be dreadful. You've seen what they're doing on the South Bank. All that hideous concrete, it's heartbreaking really.”

“Hmm,” was Helen's only reply but her tone told him enough. James turned to see her staring at her shoes, the last of her suitcases on the floor beside her. He swallowed hard around the lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat. 

“Well then,” he said a minute later, plastering a smile he did not feel onto his face and stepping towards her. “I suppose we'd better be off. You have a plane to catch.” His tone was so upbeat as to be saccharine and they both tried to pretend Helen's grimace was actually a smile.

“Yes, I suppose so,” she murmured, raising her chin and looking him right in the eye.

“Right oh,” James replied, his expression similarly pained. Helen looked away and he coughed ever so slightly before stepping forward and lifting her cases from the floor.

“Let me take one,” she protested but he was having none of it and valiantly struggled towards the door. Helen trotted ahead, her heels click clacking on the polished tile and the hinges on the old oak door groaning loudly as she pulled it open. James waddled though and trundled down the steps to load her baggage into the back of the car. The lock on the trunk crunched loudly as he slammed it shut and when he raised his head he saw Helen watching him with sad eyes from the top of the steps.

“Ready then?” he asked, hoisting the passenger door open. She pursed her lips, her long dark hair blowing across her eyes in the chilly breeze.

“Hmm mmm,” she chirped non-committally and averted her eyes as she stepped towards him. James rubbed his palm over his face as he closed the door behind her, sniffing loudly as he walked around to the driver's side. 

“James,” Helen said softly as he slotted the key into the ignition. He stared though the windscreen at the gravel on the drive.

“James, I....” Helen tried again and when he looked up, her mouth was slightly open as though she had meant to say something more but her lip trembled and she said nothing.

“It's alright, Helen,” he said and held her gaze for a moment with a sad, soft smile on his face. Helen smiled back as he started the engine. James looked ahead as they rolled down towards the gates and turned into the street and when he glanced back at her a moment later, could not help but notice how she watched the diminishing reflection of the old house in the side mirror until they turned a corner and it disappeared from sight.


End file.
